


You Need Some Direction

by Naranne



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M, First Person, Gambling, M/M, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-05
Updated: 2010-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 15:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naranne/pseuds/Naranne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Increasingly frustrated with her roommate and long-time friend's lack of direction in his life, Hermione continues to urge him onward – yet what Ron finally comes up with is something far different to what Hermione had anticipated…</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Need Some Direction

"You know what, Hermione?" Ron Weasley snapped, the tips of his ears as red as the roots of his hair and a furious look emblazoned across his features, "I've decided—"

"What?" I retaliated smartly, cutting him off and crossing my arms beneath my chest, staring down my room-mate with as calm and collected an expression as I could muster. I was torn between anger and the urge to laugh – so comical a picture did he make, cheeks and ears flaming, his chest puffed up and shaking a finger at me, the very picture of self-righteousness. The fact that he was obviously wrong only served to make it funnier.

"You think I need to do something with my life?"

"Brilliant, Ronald, you finally caught on to what I've been trying to say for the past Merlin only knows how lon—"

"I've decided you're right."

Well, that one caught me off guard. "I beg your pardon?"

"Pardon granted," he quipped, and mock-saluted me. I fought back both a snarl and a scowl. He did _not_ have the right to be making fun of me. As I opened my mouth to deliver a heated retort, however, he cut me off. _Again_. "I've decided I do need to do something with my life." There was something about the incredibly smug look hanging around his lips that I just _did_ not like.

"And what would that be?" I mocked, cocking one eye-brow at him.

"I've come to the conclusion that Harry and I don't get enough _quality_ _time_ together… You know, just doing your average blokey things. There's just not enough fun in this apartment."

If I hadn't been so utterly bewildered by that statement, both at the way his expression had suddenly changed from riled up to earnest, and that for a split second I had actually believed that he had, for once in his life, listened to something I'd said, I would have laughed.

" _Blokey_ things?" I repeated incredulously. "Not enough _fun_ in this apartment?"

"You heard me."

Personally, I thought it was rather brave of him to be standing up for himself at this point. Or rather stupid. However, he seemed to have been thinking along the same lines, for he was making for the door before I could retaliate. Furiously, I spied Harry leaning against the wall near the apartment door, looking extremely sheepish and as if he were desperately trying to blend in with the wallpaper. I shot him my best _get-out-now-or-you'll-pay-too_ glare, and with a start he hurried out the gaping door after Ron's retreating back.

As the door slammed behind them, I furiously yelled, " _Use protection_!"

I knew they – or at least Ronald – had heard me, for the sound of raucous laughter reached me through our unfortunately thin walls. Huffing angrily, I settled myself down on the couch and reached for my book, hoping to put the two of them well out of my mind.

* * *

Unfortunately, as per usual that approach did not quite work so well, as I began mulling things over, replaying the argument in my head.

I suppose it had seemed the logical explanation at the time – a year after the war had ended, when I had finished my last year of schooling, the three of us rented a small apartment together in central London. Harry had gone straight into Auror training a few months after the war's end – although Voldemort had been defeated, there were still rogue Death Eaters roaming the countryside, and who knew what else. Ronald, however, had flitted from job to job (and from girl to girl, after we had realised that we worked _only_ as friends).

That had been two years ago, and the red-headed menace had yet to find a steady job. In fact, he was currently unemployed – he called it "taking a break between work", but if I were to absolutely, bloody honest, he was only scraping by with the assistance of Harry and myself. For my part, I was quite content working in a small, quiet bookstore whilst furthering my education, taking on tuition from various professional witches or wizards until I decided what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

I was, however, quite determined that my situation was _entirely_ different from Ronald's. Whilst neither of us had the decisiveness of Harry, at least _I_ had a job.

Just as I had reached the conclusion that, simply put, there was actually nothing I could do about Ron and his indecisive ways (for the moment, at least), and had settled myself comfortably in order to spend the remainder of the evening reading, a loud, persistent knock sounded at the door. Aware that in no way was I fit to be seen by the general public – I was certainly dressed rather shabbily, having not gone out that day, and as such not having taken great care with my appearance – I decided to answer regardless, reasoning that it was probably either Ron or Harry, and that one of them had perhaps forgotten something.

However, no sooner had I reached for the flap on the peep-hole to assess just who it was that wanted entry so badly, the door swung open. As it narrowly avoided swiping me on its swing open, I was greeted with the sight of an (as always) immaculately dressed ferret.

Oh, yes, just because the youngest Malfoy and I had put our differences behind us did not mean that the petty high-school names would not be forgotten when I was in a foul mood. I sighed. Dark brown leather jacket – check. Crisp shirt underneath – check. Jeans of the utmost fashionable cut and shade of denim – check. Polished shoes – check. Cologne (sigh) – check. As always, on his late-night calls to our apartment, his impeccable dress sense outshone my own by a mile.

"Evening, Hermione," he said politely.

I scowled, and he laughed.

"Potter and the Weasel left you all by your lonesome while they've gone out to have a bit of fun?"

I deliberately ignored the things he was trying to imply with that sentence. Whatever he might think, such things were certainly _not_ true.

"Remind me again why we allowed you to move in next to us," I said sourly, as he let himself in, a flick of his wand causing the door to shut behind him.

"One: because you had no choice, as I quite clearly remember you three _not_ owning this apartment building." He walked into the kitchen (after having politely left his shoes at the door, of course; for a ferret, he always had infallible manners), hung his expensive leather jacket on the back of one of my dining table chairs, and poured himself a cup of the tea I had set on to boil for myself.

"Two," he continued, as I dragged my feet into the kitchen after him, mirroring his nonchalant stance and leaning against the opposing wall, "I somehow manage to appear rather timely every time the red-head gets under your skin."

"He has a name," I mumbled as Draco strode closer, silvery eyes glinting with hidden mischief. His scent wafted toward me, and despite myself, I gulped, eyeing him warily. It wasn't my fault he smelt so darned good… _Stop it, Hermione!_ I mentally chastised myself.

"And three—" oh, yes, he knew what he was doing, the bastard, if the incredibly smug look on his face was any indication— "you know you can't possibly bear to go without this for very long."

As he spoke, he'd come increasingly closer, so much so that as the last words slithered from his lips, I felt his breath on my neck, his expert lips brushing my skin. My breathing quickened. His arms snaked about my waist, tugging me toward him, and I cursed my weak resolve as I gave in and locked my own around his neck. I could feel him smirk against my skin, his fingers massaging my lower back.

"Now," he murmured, his tone sultry. I raised an eyebrow. "How about I help you forget about the fight that you've obviously had with my _favourite_ little red-head—" here I could not help but laugh a little— "and give you something far, far better to think about?"

In between his words, he trailed light kisses from my shoulder to my chin, up and back, up and back. At that point, I was somewhat grateful that the old, baggy jumper I was wearing was loose enough to expose a fair amount of skin – or at least, loose enough to pushed aside wish ease. As he abruptly lifted me onto his shoulder and marched me resolutely up the stairs to the bedroom, I gave an exhilarated laugh, and suddenly Ron was the furthest thing from my mind.

* * *

Predictably, Harry and Ron did not return until the very early hours of the morning. By that point, Draco and I were curled up on the couch together - although my room-mates knew of my … association … with the blonde wizard, Draco knew that when the two of them went out without me, there was a part of me that would not allow me to sleep until they had returned home safely. Realising it was something deeply ingrained that originated from our harsh experiences during the war, he respected my wishes.

However, I was not complaining about my current situation – a sculpted chest such as Draco's, I had found, makes an _excellent_ pillow, and right at that moment I was taking full advantage of that fact. Despite that, the other two members of the Golden Trio were known for their impeccable timing, and that night was no exception.

Just as Draco had dipped his head to claim my lips once more, there was an almighty crash from the entryway as two rather inebriated young men stumbled into the apartment, their laughter far more exuberant than was really necessary. As I sat up, peering over toward the small foyer our apartment had, the slightly frustrated man beside me muttered something about rotten timing, and I laughed.

I propped myself up with my elbows on the elevated arm-rest of the couch, and waited for one of them to notice me. Harry, ever the more sensible one, had headed for the kitchen – albeit in a decidedly zigzag fashion – yet was trying to drink from an empty glass, and kept frowning at the object in his hand as if water would suddenly materialise. Ron, however, was first to notice me, and waved in an exaggerated fashion.

"Hullo, 'Mione!" he slurred, drunkenly happy to see me.

I merely raised an eyebrow and greeted him cordially, tucking my hair behind my ear and trying not to laugh.

Although he had not yet put his head up, Ron seemed to have noticed the man lying next to me and had obviously guessed who it would be, for he dead-panned, "Hello, Malfoy."

Draco's only reply was to raise an arm above the arm-rest of the couch and give a short wave. I snorted, and then turned my attention back to my party-hard roommate. "So, did you find the _fun_ and _quality time_ you were so desperately looking for?" I asked, unable to keep the edge out of my voice. Draco reached a hand up to massage my shoulder and neck soothingly and kissed my side softly, keeping me from getting aggravated.

Ron nodded enthusiastically. I rolled my eyes.

Harry laughed, choosing this moment to enter the conversation. "Sure he did," he added, his words coming out in between drunken laughter, "but he lost all his savings while he was at it."

I froze, hoping against hope that I had heard that last bit incorrectly. Beside me, Draco stifled his sniggers in the couch, which was _not_ helping.

"Yeah, Ron found this great place," Harry continued, blithely unaware of the fact that his red-headed, naïve friend was frantically waving his arms at him, trying to get him to stop talking. "I think it was called a casino, or something. Muggle invention."

I dimly recall in that moment the distinct sound of my jaw hitting the floor – or the couch, as the case may be. Draco burst into incredulous laughter, yet I was seeing red.

"You went _where_?"


End file.
